


Unraveled

by reeses



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Vomiting tw, some characters might be ooc, tbh purely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeses/pseuds/reeses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xerxes has faced down armies of the undead and a Mad King, but nothing could've prepared her for coming face-to-face with her past.</p><p>(Using customized f!mu for this fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unraveled

**Author's Note:**

> Xerxes is a customized f!mu with: build 2 (except more built), short pink hair, wearing eye patch, and tanned complexion similar to validar's (except with warmer tones). This fic will be mostly dealing with the subject of abuse, so if that's not your cup of tea there's plenty of other fics for you to enjoy.
> 
> Trigger warnings: past abuse, eye trauma, vomiting

“This sucks.” Xerxes whines.

“Tell me about it.” Chrom replies, his expression as dour as Frederick’s.

“We’re almost there, milord.” Frederick says. He grumbles under his breath something about moving pebbles out of the way.

The war council agreed that Chrom, Frederick, and Xerxes will all travel to parley with the new king of Plegia. After all, Ylisse and Ferox are left without much choice given that Valm proved to be a formidable force on land and sea. Plegia, surprisingly, has enough gold (courtesy of Gangrel the Mad) and ships for the Shepherds’ campaign. Plus, the parley is a critical opportunity to make amends with the country Ylisse was at war with for the past few centuries. It’s a logical decision, even if most found it unpleasant at the time. Xerxes shared the sentiment, but put it aside for the sake of Ylisse and the cause.

Only now she regrets suggesting the parley when the trio finally arrives at the castle.

Xerxes’s gut churns at the sight of the courtyard. They try not to relive the memories, walking by the damned cliff and towards the foreboding castle ahead of them. Xerxes glances over to the knight and she swears she sees Frederick’s eyes get misty for a moment. Then he sniffs and his face becomes stoic again, any display of emotion gone. She turns back and pretends that he didn’t shed a tear. Chrom is deathly quiet the entire trip through the courtyard, but the only thing Xerxes can do is hold his trembling hand without saying a word. (His hand tightens around hers.) When they near the doors of the castle, Xerxes gently releases his hand.

They pass by the guards at the massive doors, through the impressive foyer, and into the entrance hall where Aversa waits. Xerxes feels her chest tighten and the beginnings of rage flow through her veins. This woman orchestrated the deaths of Phila, the veteran pegasus knights, and Emmeryn. And all Aversa has to show for it is the smug smirk on her face. This time, Chrom holds Xerxes back with a hand on her shoulder. But even he can’t hide his anger from the way his jaw is set. Frederick glowers from behind them.

Aversa dips her head briefly. “Greetings, Prince Chrom. Plegia welcomes you.”

Her smile says otherwise.

“Aversa.” Chrom growls, letting go of Xerxes’s shoulder in favor of reaching for his sword. But he holds back, and lets his hand hang by his side instead.

The woman in question casually shrugs and grins at the prince. “What can I say? It seems fate has designs for me yet.”

“You serve this new king, then?” He questions.

Aversa’s smile grows wickedly. “I do.”

Frederick clears his throat. “They say he worships the Fell Dragon.”

At that, Xerxes’s heart stutters. She still isn’t sure why that name bothers her to this extent. Frederick the Wary, always living up to his title, notices this and raises a concerned eyebrow. Xerxes subtly shakes her head before turning back and pretending to listen to Aversa.

“Why yes, of course he does. He is a descendant of Grima and the highest hierophant of his order.” Aversa replies proudly. “My liege often says it was his faith that got him through, after Gangrel's passing. It was a difficult time…”

Xerxes wants to call bullshit, but she keeps her mouth shut lest she starts another war. Though Xerxes wonders if Aversa’s loyalty to Gangrel was ever genuine from the way Aversa sings praises of her new king. (Maybe Gangrel was just another pawn in this game of fates.)

“…But he kept order where there might have been chaos. We had meant to arrange an official visit to Ylisstol, but—ah, here is my lord now.”

As if on cue, the king strolls into the room.

For a moment, Xerxes can’t breathe.

Back in Ylisstol (when Emmeryn was still alive), she had only caught a glimpse of this man’s fleeing figure before everything settled down after the attempted assassination. She hadn’t thought too much of it, only that everyone was in a frenzy and that there were injuries needed to be tended to.

She should’ve paid more attention.

Now Xerxes comes face-to-face with a man whose eyes looks all too eerily similar to hers, whose wicked sneer brings forth a familiar trepidation creeping from her stomach to her rapidly beating heart. It feels like the world around is rushing around her as she stands there, frozen and not quite sure why this man’s presence disturbs her. Beside Xerxes, Frederick’s stony look never wavers but he steps closer to her. His warmth is a small comfort in the midst of everything else. Chrom glances worriedly at Xerxes, but the king speaks up and the prince’s attention shifts away.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, _Exalt_.” the king says, just a hint of a mocking tone at the title.

Xerxes doesn’t miss the way Chrom’s hand tightens on the pommel of Falchion. Her own temper flares a little at the jab. Frederick’s frown deepens further. It’s been five seconds and already they have a bad feeling about him.

“I am Validar, king regnant of Plegia.”

Xerxes’s heart stops.

A memory, buried somewhere deep and dark, charges to the forefront of her mind. Fuzzy images of her mother, of traveling through sand and snow and storm to safety, of monstrous beings smiling in the dark seize at her throat. She tries to hide trembling hands behind her back and her legs feel shaky for her suddenly unsteady weight. Xerxes schools her face into one of indifference, but Aversa seems to have noticed. Aversa smirks at Xerxes, like she knows something. Xerxes swallows her nerves and focuses on the parley.

“The honor is mine, good king.” Chrom replies smoothly, briefly sharing a look with the tactician.

They both know. They’ve seen this man before. The prince looks away.

“Forgive me but,” Chrom starts as he scratches his head, “is it possible that we’ve met before?”

Validar chortles. “I’m quite certain I would remember any encounter with Ylissean royalty.”

Then Validar turns his head and makes direct eye contact with Xerxes. Her shoulders stiffen as the growing dread eats away at her stomach.

“And _you_ must be Lady Xerxes.”

Chills crawl down her spine.

“You know of me, sire?” She asks, keeping her voice controlled. _She’s got to keep it together._

“Why of course! The whole world knows of Ylisse’s master tactician! Indeed, I see a sparkle of wisdom in your eye.”

He steps towards Xerxes as she tries hard not to bolt right then and there. She stands like a statue as Validar draws close enough that a foot of space separates them. Xerxes recoils as long, bony fingers touch her cheek.

“Just like your mother.” Validar mutters, drawing back his hand. He sounds revulsed (and disappointed?) to even mention her. What does he know of Xerxes's mother?

“What do you mean?” Chrom cuts in before Xerxes can say anything.

Validar gasps and puts a hand on his chest theatrically, looking towards Chrom as if scandalized before turning to Xerxes.

“I’m shocked that you haven’t told them yet, Xerxes.” he says with a touch of (mock) hurt. “Why haven’t you come back home to your father? We’ve all been worried _sick_.”

Xerxes reels.

“F…Father?”

This meeting is falling into pieces and her head is rushing with more memories. Haunting imagery after cruel word, the onslaught of deeply buried trauma brings a hard truth to light. Xerxes stumbles backwards, away from Validar and his growing smile and Aversa’s knowing eyes. (They’ve met each other before all this, but _where?_ ) Xerxes feels sick. She feels like she might throw up. _What is this man playing at?_

Validar smirks. He reaches out and pulls Xerxes into a tight hold that is nothing like a hug.

“Welcome home, my dearest daughter.” He whispers in her ear.

She is frozen in his clutch. His arms cage her in—she cannot escape. Aversa makes some comment that Xerxes can barely hear over the roaring rush of nothingness whirling through her head, something about lost children and coming home. (Xerxes wants to go home to her small cottage out in the Ylissean countryside and curl up in her bed.)

“My apologies for breaking up this family reunion, King Validar,” Chrom says, after clearing his throat, “but let us put our focus back on our meeting.”

“Forgive me, it’s just been too long since I last saw my only child again.” Validar replies in a sickeningly tender voice, finally letting go of Xerxes.

(She releases her breath.) Xerxes keeps her poker face on as she steps back, next to Chrom and Frederick again, and merely nods at the king. (He is not her father. _He is not her father._ )

When Validar also steps back, there’s a deranged, delighted light in his eyes. “Let us get to it, then.”

Chrom’s eyes become steely. “Before we start, I want to say something.”

The Plegian king smirks. “What is it?”

“Xerxes is a citizen of Ylisse.”

Validar’s smirk widens into a knife-like smile. “And?”

“She has no obligation to return to Plegia, no matter what title you hold.” Chrom replies, staring down Validar as his hand rests on Falchion. “Our Shepherds uphold a sacred vow to protect every single Ylissean. I hope you keep that in mind.”

The king is quiet, his grin becoming vicious for a split second before it disappears in a blink of an eye. The cold, merciless look in his eyes is hauntingly familiar. Xerxes looks down at the floor as if on instinct.

“Very well.” Validar says. Then he waves dismissively at Aversa, who flinches ever so slightly.

She steps forth to speak on Validar’s behalf.

After that, Xerxes’s mind blanks out the rest of the meeting.

 

* * *

 

Before she realizes it, the trio has already left the castle and returned to the Shepherds’ camp. Xerxes wanders into her tent with the prince and knight hot at her heels. ( _They need answers, they need to know_ , she reminds herself as they all settle down.)

It feels like forever until someone finally breaks the silence.

“Xerxes?”

She snaps out of her thoughts at the sound of Chrom’s voice. She feels a different kind of dread curl up in the back of her throat when the prince looks at her with questions written all over his eyes and Frederick stares at her, ready to lash out with accusations.

“What happened back there? Can you please explain to me why Validar called you his… _child?_ ”

She really doesn’t want to deal with this right now. Not after remembering her past and being scared shitless of seeing Validar all over again.

“You lied to us.” The knight mutters. Xerxes’s blood runs cold.

“Frederick,” Chrom warns.

“You betrayed us.” Frederick continues to seethe, rage burning on his tongue. “For all we know, _you_ could’ve been the one who let Emmeryn die—”

At that, Xerxes _snaps_.

“What the fuck _do_ you know?” She hisses. “You were too busy being suspicious of every little thing that so much as breathed wrong around your charges. I didn’t see you coming up with a better plan to rescue her.”

And then she wants to shove those words back down her throat when she sees Frederick’s face contort with hurt rage.

“How _dare_ you—”

“Frederick, enough!” Chrom shouts. The other two people flinch.

The only time Chrom raised his voice like that was when Emmeryn died. The prince’s expression is unreadable, but Xerxes knows he’s probably wondering what to think of her now. The dread inside her worsens.

“Forgive me, milord.” Frederick replies after a while. “But please, try to understand. One of your closest allies has revealed herself as the spawn of—”

“Finish that sentence, Frederick, _I dare you_.” Xerxes says in a dangerously low voice. But the heat dies and the look in her eye softens to something like defeat. “Look, I understand your suspicions, but please believe me when I say I truly was without memory this entire time. I only regained them now because—”

Xerxes pauses, unsure to call him her father. (He is not her father.)

“—I saw the man who killed my mother.”

Frederick narrows his eyes at her.

“What do you mean by that? He called you his daughter.” He says, almost impatiently.

Xerxes inhales deeply to calm herself and folds her hands in her lap as she searches for words.

Then again, she prefers blunt honesty.

“This is when I explain to you, in excruciating detail, the past that I remember.” She begins quietly. “It is a long story, so bear with me here.”

Chrom senses something from the change in her tone. “Xerxes, you don’t have to if—”

Xerxes raises a hand. “I will, but not to just prove myself to you. I will do it because I need to own my past.”

Frustration flickers through his eyes, but Chrom holds his tongue and sits backs. Frederick merely waits.

Xerxes steels herself.

“I was very young at the time when my mother attempted to escape Plegia with me.” she begins. “I don’t know why specifically, but I have a gut feeling that she was trying to protect me from the Grimleal. See this?”

Xerxes stops to tug off her leather glove and reveal the brand. She turns her hand with her palm facing up. A long, white, jagged scar mars the skin. Chrom and Frederick display varying degrees of shock on their faces, but don’t say anything.

“This is what they do when they find a child with this brand—they mark them.”

Xerxes leans back, her bare hands interlacing in her lap again, and continues, “Validar was not happy to find out that my mother escaped. So he dragged her back to Plegia from her hiding place, took me, and publicly executed her. I was forced to watch so I would learn what happened if I tried to escape.”

She suppresses the image of her brave mother standing alone on the execution stand.

Xerxes takes in another shuddering breath. “When I was trapped in Plegia, Validar tried to train me like a dog so that I would obey him. I attempted to defy him at every opportunity I could, and one day he had enough of my insolence and punished me.”

She slides her eye patch up. Her ruined eye blankly stares back at the men.

Chrom pales as Frederick looks on neutrally.

Xerxes replaces her bad eye with the eyepatch again.

“Now, I have made myself _completely_ transparent to you. And may I remind you that I have risked life and limb repeatedly for this cause since the beginning.” Here, she pauses. Xerxes scoffs and turns to Frederick. “But of course, my word nor my scars are not good enough evidence for Sir Frederick to believe me, yes?”

“…How do we know you’re not lying?” Frederick questions. Ever the blunt man.

“Then how come you took Validar at his word?” Xerxes returns. “How is it that one word from the man who nearly killed your Exalt will make you doubt your trust in me when we’ve fought battles together, shared our hearts with each other, and built a friendship that lasted these past few years? Was there ever a time when I attempted to hurt you, your charges, or any of the Shepherds?”

Frederick looks like as if he was physically struck. ( _Good_ , Xerxes thinks hotly for a second. _Serves him right._ )

Xerxes leans back in her seat and chuckles darkly. “Well, I guess this means our friendship wasn’t as strong as I thought it was.”

After a beat too long, she can’t stand their stares anymore. Xerxes recollects what little of her composure remains, wipes her face, and walks out.

 

* * *

 

She blinks in surprise when she steps outside. It’s already evening. Some of the Shepherds are preparing for dinner. Soldiers who aren’t assigned to kitchen duty mill about the camp, making idle chat or performing other chores. The mundaneness of it all calms her somewhat, but it’s not enough to quell the hurt nor fear in her heart. Sooner or later, someone will find her and ask her questions that she can’t answer and then the whole camp will know of her true identity. Xerxes would very much prefer to deal with that drama later.

She treks out into the desert alone.

It’s not long until Xerxes spots a few palm trees by an oasis. She makes her way to a willowy trunk and takes her seat in front of the tree.

Here, she can finally piece herself together and grieve. She unties the patch from her eye and the tears come unbidden as she clutches the fabric like it’s a lifeline. (It might as well be one.) Xerxes chokes out sobs for her mother, for everything she remembers.

She sits there long after the tears subside, the eyepatch trapped in her clenched fist, as she stares blankly at nothing. All the crying took away her ability to feel anything at all. It's a small blessing, if Xerxes is being honest with herself, but she can't quite bring herself to  _care_.

Until the presence at the back of her mind grows louder. It starts to make her ears ring and head hurt. She presses her hands against her head, willing the pain to subside. It doesn’t. Instead, it intensifies.

 _Heed my call_ , a voice whispers in her head.

She doesn’t want to. Xerxes screws her eyes shut.

The voice is insistent, a parasite that won’t die. _Heed my call, Xerxes._

Her eyes snap open. Validar stands before her.

Her battle instinct forces her to scramble onto her feet and reach for her Levin sword—only, she finds that she’s unarmed. Xerxes curses her own stupidity.

Validar tuts at her. Xerxes’s spine straightens on instinct. He hates it whenever she shows weakness. She tries, but she cannot stop the trembling. She covers it up as much as she can by standing as tall as her mother.

“Why do you close your heart to Grima, Xerxes?”

Her blood runs cold at the name.

“Have you forgotten?”

“Fuck off,” she slurs, clutching her head as if that’ll make the pain go away. “I don’t… wanna… talk to you.”

Validar’s eyes are dangerously bright as he grins his knife-like smile at her. She shudders violently in fear.

“Such arrogance. You dare use such language against your father?”

Cold fear stills her heart. Xerxes pushes herself further against the tree, away from Validar. Her head continues to throb against her hands.

“Get out of my head…” she mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut from the excruciating _pain_.

“Although the flesh may be… imperfect, you are of sacred blood. You are to serve a glorious purpose.” Validar says, stepping closer. “Search deep within your heart. You already know it is your destiny.”

The only thing in her heart right now is sheer terror. This is what she’s always been afraid of—that her past would reveal her to be a danger to everyone she loves and cares about. But now, there’s also a spark of something else: stubborn defiance. In spite of everything, she clings tight to this spark, anything to distance herself from this man and all the horrors associated with him.

“Get the _fuck_ out!” Xerxes screams at him, shivering and shrinking in on herself. “I don’t want this! I never wanted any of this!”

Validar is persistent, even as his ire grows.

“Why do you resist us, Xerxes? Your rightful place is by _my_ side.” His voice turns hard as his face takes on a terrifying scowl. “Not wasting your time with these doomed servants of _Naga_.”

His voice crescendoes into a roar, claws reaching out for her as he screams, “ _Give yourself to Grima!_ Let me join your strength to the Fell Dragon!”

Xerxes wants to live.

_“No!”_

“Xerxes!”

Suddenly the pain disappears along with Validar and Xerxes gasps for air. She slumps to the ground, her hands shaking and holding her eye patch so tight that she numbly notices the thin trail of blood down her arm.

A pair of arms wrap around her. She screams, fights against the assailant with all her might, trying to break free of the grip. He won’t let go of her, _he won’t let go_ —

The arms don’t do anything but hold her tight against a warm body. Then her deafened ears regain hearing and she hears Chrom’s voice again.

The fight leaves her body. She stares at nothing in particular and can’t really process anything except that Chrom is hugging her. Sobs bubble out of her blubbering mouth before she can stop them. Chrom keeps telling her _it’s okay_ , but it goes over her head. At least his embrace, along with the dull sting of her cut palms, grounds Xerxes in the moment.

It takes a while for the sobs to quiet down.

“Are you alright?” Chrom tentatively asks when Xerxes has considerably calmed.

“I-I’m… I’m fine…” Xerxes croaks out.

“‘Fine’ is a poor choice of words.” Chrom reprimands her, gently. “What happened?”

“I don’t k-know,” Xerxes replies honestly, loathing the way she stumbles over words. “I think… I think Validar might’ve… done something… strange… with my head.”

It’s then that the nausea catches up to her.

She shoves her way out of the prince’s hold, ignoring his protests, and retches behind the tree. Chrom is there by her side, holding back Xerxes’s hair as she vomits out the contents of her stomach into the sand. She feels pathetic, vulnerable, helpless, weak—everything that she’s been taught not to be. When Xerxes heaves nothing but air, her throat burning with acid, the prince gathers her in his arms and calls for a healer.

Her eyesight is blurry, but she can make out worried blue eyes.

Everything fades into black.


End file.
